


Piu Mosso

by emily31594



Series: Music [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emily31594/pseuds/emily31594
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the first night Music-verse Robin and Regina spend together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piu Mosso

Piu mosso

Regina wakes in the morning to the whistle of a boiling kettle, and the quiet clink of pottery.

A smile forms on her lips as she stretches out her bare limbs, a bend of her arm reminding her of twining those limbs around Robin's neck last night, the clench of her fingers recalling the way they had twisted into his hair, a deep breath echoing their gasps, the shift of her legs, the fullness and friction, warmth and bliss of him inside her.

She revels for a moment, and then pushes back the last edges of the sheets and searches out her panties on the carpet.

She snatches Robin's T-shirt on her way out of the room, tugging it over her head with a fond smile for the deep green color she used to tease him for wearing constantly when they were children.

"Still dressing like a forest, then?" she asks as she enters her flat's open kitchen and living room.

He turns to smile softly at her, an expression in his eyes and on his lips that melts her heart in a way it hasn't been melted for over half a decade. But it's new, as well—there's a fire that speaks of an adult who is even more certain of what he feels them to be.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "And if I were to open that closet, your clothes wouldn't be almost entirely black?"

Her eyes spark at the challenge. "I am a musician."

She glances at the counter and frowns, then, noticing the minute he picks up on it, because his lips fall to mirror hers.

"What is it?" he asks.

She fights the dampness pooling in her eyes, shaking her head gently. "You're making tea?"

"With whole milk and one scoop of brown sugar," he confirms confidently, faltering a second later, "Why, do you prefer coffee now? I could-"

She shakes her head quickly, a hundred beautiful memories blurring into the present. "It's perfect."

His brow furrows in confusion. "Then, what—"

Regina sighs, walking to him and stepping into his waiting arms, hers tight around his waist.

"Aren't you afraid that we're going to screw this up? It's been so long, and we were so young…"

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, his fingers threading through her hair.

"I was afraid," he confesses, "Terrified, actually. You're this—loving, talented, intelligent, gorgeous violin player, and I'm just a humble gardener who's been in love with you since we were fifteen."

She pulls back to smile at him, more radiant even than he remembered in his dreams. "And now?"

He swoops her up into his arms suddenly, spinning them around once, drawing a surprised shriek and a fondly scolding Robin from her lips.

He sets her back on her feet, her giddy, dizzy stumble nearly pulling them both to the ground before he rights them.

"And now, I'm making you tea in your kitchen, and your hair's all tousled from spending the night in bed with me," he reaches to touch it again, then trails his hand down to tug at the sleeve of her borrowed T-shirt, "and you stole my shirt and to be honest, I can't remember what I was so afraid of." He cradles her face, his callused fingerpads against her soft skin.

Regina blinks once, twice, and when she owns her eyes again, he's even closer, his mouth maybe six inches from her own.

"Fifteen, hm?" she asks, a grin spreading across her face as she cups his jaw and closes the distance between them.

"Mhm," he confirms against her lips, before slanting his lips over hers, their kiss clumsy for the way they're both smiling into it.

Her eyes flutter closed as his palm slides under her T-shirt and onto her back to tug her closer.

"When we were fourteen," she challenges, backing him into the counter and nipping along his jaw until a quiet moan escapes his lips, "you left a bouquet of flowers in my room once a week."

"Yes, well, I–did have a lot of them," he manages between kisses.

She chuckles at him, even as her fingers thread into his hair and his tongue traces the seam of her lips. "Robin?"

"Hm?"

She pulls back for a moment, dropping her forehead to his as they catch their breaths, his stubble prickling her palms. Affection coils warm in her belly for the boy who left her a bouquet of wildflowers after every recital, the man who brought flowers to her concert and worried he somehow wasn't sophisticated enough for her, and yet was brave enough to show up on her doorstep anyway, "I've been in love with you since we were fourteen, too."


End file.
